Old Wood Best to Burn
by Kodiak Bear Country
Summary: An episode tag for Common Ground. Sheppardcentric.
1. Chapter 1

Thanks to Linzi and gaffer for their wonderful beta help, all remaining mistakes are mine! This is part one of an episode tag for Common Ground. Warnings: Spoilers for Common Ground, swearing.

**Old Wood Best to Burn**

_AN: Title taken from this quote; Old wood best to burn, old wine to drink, old friends to trust, and old authors to read. Quoted by Francis Bacon, Apothegm_

It wasn't until he flew the Jumper through the gate, and settled the ship into its berth on the floor, that it finally hit him. _Really_ hit him. He was home. He was alive. He wasn't a candidate for geriatric patient of the year.

Sheppard turned in his seat, watched as the marines that had gone on the rescue mission filed out, then his eyes shifted to McKay, Ronon, Teyla…Carson standing by the door leading into the cockpit. They hadn't moved, and they were all staring at him.

With a smile he didn't quite feel, he assured them, "I'm fine, guys."

Carson was grave as he shook his head. "I'll be the judge of that, Colonel. You do realize you're going to be my guest for a while?"

"I'm fine," Sheppard reiterated. He really was…and, then again, he wasn't. Physically, he felt stronger then ever, elation and endorphins still singing through his veins. It's pretty damn hard to beat going from the brink of death, aged to a corpsicle, then suddenly returned to normal. When you think your life is over, and then it's handed back…how do you describe something like that? It was like waking up from a nightmare and freezing that one moment of realization when you figure out that everything horrible was just a dream, that it wasn't real.

Except, what'd happened to him was real. It wasn't a nightmare that he could wake up from, shake off with a cup of coffee and a bad joke, and move on.

Sheppard had kept a mental countdown after every feeding. Assessed his body, tried to keep track of how many years he was losing…the first time, he hadn't felt a lot different. The pain, sure, that'd been there in spades. But otherwise, he'd still felt young. His hands, muscles, nothing seemed sunken and drained. Maybe some joint pain, mild compared to the pain of the feeding.

The second time, though, that had been different. That's when he knew it'd gone too far for him to ever return to his 'normal' life. He'd felt old. His skin, his body, joints…it went far beyond the pain from just the feeding process. Afterwards he'd half-slumped, half-sat, on the floor of his cell and thought about Everett. Thought about what was going to happen when his friends did show up for him.

How long _had_ he been a prisoner for? Normally he was good at math, but right now his mind was momentarily muddled. It'd been less then a day before he and the wraith had escaped…at least, he thought it was. They'd slept the night in the forest, woken…

It was while he stared longer at Carson that something finally clicked. The meaning of the long, curious looks that kept sliding his way. The few questions Carson had thrown at him during the flight. Outrage took over relief, because as much as Sheppard knew they were happy to have him home, healthy and safe, Sheppard also knew that he was now a medical rarity. "I'm not gonna be your guinea pig." He wanted it said now, out in the open.

He was the first person among the expedition that not only survived being repeatedly fed upon, but was de-aged, fixed, whatever the hell you wanted to call it. He was a living specimen to answer a lot of questions. While he could understand the importance of that, Sheppard also figured that he was just as likely to not be the answer to anything, because what was done, was done. Unless there were by-products in his blood stream still hanging around, the only thing Carson was likely to get for his trouble was a pissed off colonel.

Though they weren't alone in the ship, Sheppard's focus was narrowing. Carson hadn't acknowledged what he'd said yet, except for a slight bunching of eyebrows, so when Rodney spoke next to him, Sheppard almost jerked back, startled by the unexpected noise.

"You're not a guinea pig," Rodney declared, irritated. "Besides…" he raked grim assessing eyes over Sheppard, "You're too thin, and tall…and nowhere near furry enough." Sheppard didn't know whether Rodney was trying to be funny, or if he was being serious, because Rodney wasn't giving anything away in his expression.

He stared past Sheppard and looked at Carson, picking up on the same body language that Sheppard had seen. "Carson! Give him a break, stop practicing your twisted version of science. It's not like the wraith changed his blood into a fountain of youth. It doesn't work that way!" After Rodney made his declaration, he had a moment of doubt, and turned back to Sheppard, the seat squeaking under his legs as he shifted, and asked, "It doesn't, does it?"

"I do not believe Carson is planning on putting the colonel through anything unnecessary." When Teyla said it, she arched and eyebrow at Carson, her body language saying that if Carson _had_ been planning on it, then perhaps he should rethink it. "But, Colonel Sheppard did suffer from repeated feedings."

"Colonel Sheppard is right here." Sheppard raised his hand and waved it, annoyed.

Carson made a face, exhaled loudly, and pushed himself into the aisle. His eyes swept over everyone in the Jumper, including Ronon, sitting hunched in the chair behind Rodney. "Colonel, Teyla said it as well as anyone. You _were_ subjected to repeated feedings. I don't care what you claim, you are not fine. There are tests I have to run, and yes, I will admit, there will be some extra studies…" at the multiple dark looks, Carson pushed his hands against his hips and added thickly, "_When_ you're feeling up to it. But mainly, I need to keep you under observation, Son. I need to make sure your body is coping in the aftermath of the repeated feedings."

It was degenerating into his team trying to protect him from Carson. Sheppard could see it in their stances, their faces, and he hadn't meant for it to go there. He was just…he was _fine_. How could he put it…he was still in a state of euphoric shock, or something like that.

Sheppard wanted to walk through the halls of Atlantis, show everyone that despite what they might have seen or heard, he was still strong and capable, and in charge. He wasn't aged into a nursing home. He wasn't even aged into the 'buy a convertible and marry a chick half his age.' Though, a convertible _would_ be nice…but, then again, there was always the chance the rejuvenation might wear off, as he acknowledged the fine trembles he felt beginning in his muscles, and that thought scared the crap out of him. Course, it could also just be a case of the post-adrenaline high.

He'd been a step from death.

The problem was the last place he wanted to go was the infirmary -- to be reminded of what'd happened. Sheppard had wanted to do normal things, like brief Weir on Kolya's set up, then sit with his team, talk about…upcoming missions. They knew him well enough to know he wouldn't want to talk about what'd happened to him. It'd be his way of finding himself after something like that.

It was bad enough everyone here had watched as his life had been drained. That fact alone ensured he wasn't going to be allowed to ignore it like he normally would've. There were at least two people who wouldn't let him. He was surprised Heightmeyer hadn't been sent to meet the Jumper.

Seeing how everyone was still staring at him, waiting, Sheppard sighed. "Fine," he acknowledged tightly. What he wanted was going to have to wait. He'd let Carson get his reassurance, and then he'd get out of the infirmary and do the rest of this his way.

When he stood, he felt a vise clamp around his chest. The pain took his breath away, reminding him of how it'd felt during the feeding. For a moment, panic flared, and he held his hands out, afraid he was aging and the reprieve had only been a momentary gift…a trick.

"What's wrong?" demanded Rodney. "Why are you staring at your hands?"

The vise eased, and Sheppard dropped his arms. It wasn't anything. Just some lingering soreness. As hard as he'd tensed up during the feedings, it wasn't a big surprise.

"Nothing," he replied, moving to step past Carson. "Let's get these tests over with."

"Wait a minute," barged Rodney. He was out of the chair and grabbing Sheppard's jacket sleeve before Sheppard had gotten far. "I've let you pretend that nothing happened long enough, and now you're going to escape into the infirmary, and set Carson's watchdogs to keep me away until you're ready to talk about it, but I'm not sure it's exactly healthy to ignore what happened on that planet. You were _fed_ upon, Colonel. Eaten until you were gray, and old, and you are _not_ fine!"

Ronon tensed in his chair, but didn't move, didn't speak up; he just watched.

Sheppard shook off Rodney's hold, stared at his hand as Rodney pulled it back, then followed up the length of Rodney's body till Sheppard met his blunt look. Rodney's blunt, worried, and slightly freaked-out look. "Not _now_, McKay," Sheppard breathed, steeling his nerves. "I know there are things that need to be said, but all I'm asking, is for a little time."

Even that was saying too much. Bottling it up, keeping things close inside…it was what he did…what he'd always done, but he was trying to open up to these people he considered his friends. Sheppard _was_ trying, but these things, they took time.

"We understand," Teyla said. She stood, and Ronon followed her lead, relaxing and climbing to his feet.

Carson had waited, on edge as well as any of them, but now he moved towards the rear of the Jumper, convinced that he'd gotten what he wanted. The hatch was still open from when the marines had left earlier. Ronon and Teyla followed, and together they angled for the rear of the Jumper. Rodney continued to stare at Sheppard for one more awkward moment, before he too, moved, and Sheppard breathed a sigh of relief that he'd gotten his time.

It was a reprieve, though as Sheppard left the safety and comfort of his cockpit, he knew it was only a temporary one.

OoO

Rodney, Teyla and Ronon left to debrief Elizabeth once Carson had Sheppard firmly in his clutches. The scrubs he'd been told to put on were something he was plucking at now in distaste as he settled onto the gurney and waited for the nurse to come and hook him up. Literally.

EKG, EEG, blood pressure, IV…every goddamn tube and contraption known to man, Sheppard figured.

In the end, he wasn't far from wrong.

The only tube that'd been stuck in him turned out to be an IV. Turns out he was dehydrated. Go figure. Being sucked dry would do that to you, and seeing how the wraith had called it a 'gift of life', how much you wanna bet, there was normally a ritual that ended in something to drink? Unfortunately, he hadn't been in a situation to knock back a glass or two.

The O2 sensor was irritating the heck out of his finger, and the blood pressure thing was going off every fifteen minutes. All in all, he was damn uncomfortable.

Although, at least lying down was taking care of the shakiness he'd felt earlier, and the vise around his chest. The adrenaline…yeah, that was definitely gone. Sheppard had to admit, he was relieved, despite how much he'd rather not be _here_, that it'd worn off when he was already settled in bed, because it would've sucked to have had his legs go rubbery with an audience.

"So, Colonel," Carson began, but he didn't get far. He didn't know what else to say. The machines were giving him the physical information he needed.

"I'd ask if the cat got your tongue, but I'm guessing it's more that the wraith did," Sheppard joked.

Carson's hands found the rail on Sheppard's gurney, and gripped it, hard. "Is that supposed to be funny, Colonel?"

See, this was the problem with being tortured in front of your friends; there was all this awkward stuff afterwards, if you were lucky enough to live. Which he was. "Look, Doc," Sheppard pushed himself more to his side, and up on his elbow, trying to get more of a one on one look with Carson. The sheets crinkled underneath him. "I'm fine…there's not even the gray hair I found last week. I know it was…" he fished for the right word. God, he sucked at this kind of thing. "…traumatizing, to see something like that--"

"Traumatizing?" exploded Carson. He dropped his hands, stepped back, and stared at Sheppard as if he'd grown a second head.

"Well, I --"

"We're talking about you, not me."

Sheppard shook his head, and settled on his back, biting back the childish ouch when he knocked his hand with the IV needle against the railing. "No, we're not," he stated evenly.

The vise was back, and this time he wasn't sure if it was all physical. Either way, something beeped a little faster, a little harder, and Carson's agonized emotional response dropped away, and the doctor mask resumed. He leaned over to look at the read out, frowned, and pulled back. "Did that hurt? Did you feel that?"

Sheppard wondered if this was a trick question. "I heard it." He went for the obvious. Not admitting anything, but not pretending he wasn't completely ignorant of what'd just happened.

"You suffered from a momentary arrhythmia, Colonel. This is serious. Did you have any chest pain during that episode? Has this happened before?"

The memory of the vise in the jumper danced forward. Before he could confirm or deny anything, Carson read him easy enough. "Colonel, I realize the psychological effects of what you've been through most likely preclude common sense from the forefront, but this falls under things I need to know, am I clear?"

"Crystal, Doc," Sheppard grudgingly admitted.

He wasn't intentionally trying to hide anything, it was just…well, okay, maybe Carson had pegged it right enough. Mentally, he wasn't exactly in the common sense field right now. He was in the 'holy fuck, I was drained to a hair's breadth of death, returned to normalcy, then let one of the enemy go instead of blasting them away like I should've' field. Except, the wraith hadn't been the enemy, the Genii had been. Kolya, and his goons…_humans_. It's always nice to start your week off with a moral complexity.

Whatever field he was in, Sheppard knew one thing. It'd suck to have gone through all of that, and die now. "How serious is this?"

Carson was pulling out his diagnostic scanner, and ordering a nurse to draw more blood. In the middle of that, he paused to answer, "I'm afraid I can't answer that, Colonel." At Sheppard's irritated face, Carson made one in return. "I could lie to you, if you'd like?"

"Knock yourself out." Truth was overrated.

"It's probably nothing," Carson assured him.

"That's the best you could do?"

Carson grimaced at the read out, ordered the nurse to add a medication with a name Sheppard didn't catch. "Get some rest, Colonel. I'll know more later," he said, tucking his stethoscope into a pocket. He took another look at the EKG and seemed satisfied. He pulled the curtain around Sheppard's bed and ducked out, leaving Sheppard alone.

OoO

Rodney straightened his shirt, stared in the mirror. The debriefing with Elizabeth had been mercifully short, although that probably had to do with his terse statement of, "We found Sheppard, and the wraith. In typical Sheppard fashion, he made the life-sucking vampire into a friend, who then returned his life to him. We left the wraith on the outpost where the herb was harvested…wraith infested, so the thing would be rescued. Any questions?"

She'd opened her mouth to ask a million other things when Rodney had barreled over her with a, "No? Good. I'm going to get changed and head to the infirmary."

He knew he'd left her bemused, but figured Ronon and Teyla could answer anything pressing. Not that there _was_ anything. Really, his statement had summed it up plainly. They'd found Sheppard, restored to his normal youthful self, and aside from the fact that he'd made a friend out of a wraith, nothing was any different.

Except everything was.

Rodney's reflection winced.

Ambushed. He and Teyla had gone through the gate, and after Ronon had fallen through, they'd waited. When it'd shut down, the three of them had shared a panicked look. Ronon had growled, and spun towards the controls, shouting, "He was right next to me!"

Teyla had looked at Rodney. He'd seen the worry in her eyes as she'd asked, "The Stargate would not shut down with him still in it?"

"No," Rodney had said, his voice dreadful, because he knew the most likely answer to the puzzle was that Sheppard had been prevented from crossing into the event horizon, which meant he was probably in the hands of whomever had been shooting at them. Alive, dead?

He'd hated the feeling of knowing he'd left Sheppard, again. Gone through the gate, per Sheppard's orders, only to get on the other side and not have him show up. Twice, in less than two months.

He'd stormed the stairs, snapped for Elizabeth to send an immediate rescue team, but by the time they'd gated back, there'd been nothing. No Sheppard, no enemies shooting at them, nothing but the silence of an empty world. And why should he have thought it'd be anything different?

When the transmission had come from Kolya, he'd known. He'd had that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, the one he now hated more than anything. When Kolya had stepped aside, and he'd seen Sheppard strapped to the chair, gagged, he'd demanded, "What have you done to him?" without even thinking. It was just…the panic at seeing Sheppard like that.

It was _Sheppard._

He was the hero, the rescuer, the one that kept Rodney safe from people like Kolya…and now Sheppard had been captured. Rodney had his own personal experience of Kolya's coldness. How one person could be completely emotionless as he ordered the torture of another...

Absently, Rodney ran a finger along the scar on his forearm. Small, thin and white, barely there.

Seeing Sheppard like that, vulnerable and helpless, knowing what Kolya was capable of…it'd scared Rodney in places he hadn't really known he had. When the wraith was brought in, Rodney had found out, those places were going to be sticking around for a while.

"You were fed on," Rodney said to his reflection. "He tortured you in front of us. You can't just ignore it like nothing happened." His face crumpled just a little. "_I_ can't ignore it." His stupid eyes went glassy in the mirror, and Rodney inhaled deeply and turned away, pissed at himself. "_That's_ why I'm talking to myself, brilliant."

It wasn't like he was going to get Sheppard to talk to him about it. Personal relationships weren't exactly his strengths. It wasn't even as if Rodney knew what the hell to say. "I'm sorry you went through that, I'm sure you'll have nightmares, and maybe you need to see Kate, and I swear, I am never again going through the gate without you firmly attached to me, ever."

Yeah, that'd go over well.

"And I hate Kolya," Rodney added savagely.

OoO

"Kolya got away," Ronon said.

McKay had left, leaving them to finish answering questions. Not that Ronon could blame McKay. He would've left too, but Teyla had fixed one of those, "Don't even think about it," looks on him, and he'd settled back into the chair, resigned.

At that news, Weir's face hardened. "He did, did he? I don't assume it was an oversight on your part?"

Ronon shook his head like a lazy lion. "No, he slipped to the 'gate while we went for Sheppard."

"I believe we should be extremely careful. As long as he is out there, our people are at risk."

Teyla didn't single out names. Sheppard. Maybe not just him, McKay…one thing was for sure, Ronon didn't imagine this Kolya liked losing, and it sounded like it'd happened one too many times. He'd be out there, waiting. This wasn't over.

"How is Colonel Sheppard?"

"He appears to be fine," Teyla answered Weir's question before Ronon could. "Rodney was right—the colonel and the wraith appear to have…bonded, in some way, and in return for John's help in escaping, the wraith returned his life."

"And you had no idea this was possible?"

Teyla shook her head. "No, I did not. I have never heard of such a thing."

When Weir looked over at Ronon, he shrugged. "Me either."

They'd been prepared to find a Sheppard aged to the point of infirmity, and instead, when Ronon had flung the wraith off of Sheppard, he'd been face to face with the features he knew well enough; the dark brown hair, the face, unlined and smooth. The bolt of relief he'd felt was one he'd smothered fast enough.

Ronon had been accusatory when Sheppard had only stunned the wraith instead of killing it, but as much as his hatred of the wraith went soul deep, he wasn't going to begrudge this one being set free. It'd returned Sheppard to normal, and Sheppard had explained to him what 'all bets are off' meant en route to Atlantis. What it'd done for Sheppard had earned the wraith a temporary reprieve. Sheppard's life was worth it.

"Okay," Weir said. She pushed away from the table, standing. "It's been a long day. I would say get some rest, but I assume we are all soon to wind up in the same place, so instead I will save Carson the time and suggest you both get something to eat before descending on the infirmary."

Teyla stood, and Ronon followed. She smiled at Weir and tilted her head slightly. "We will. He is fine, Elizabeth. The colonel would appear to have what he calls 'a good luck charm.'

"He has something," Weir agreed, stepping through the doors ahead of Ronon. "Let's just hope it never wears off."

OoO

The shackles were cold against his wrists, the chair, insidiously soft against his back. Sheppard had been here before, and he knew where the fear was coming from. Not again, not again, not again…the mantra ran in his mind. The pain, indescribable, the fact that he wasn't even allowed the right to scream through it…maybe that was a good thing.

"Don't do this," he pleaded with Kolya. He knew what was coming, and he didn't want to be fed on. Didn't want the pain, didn't want to get aged again…

…again? Dreaming. He was dreaming. Oh, damn, just wake up, John, and you'll be back in the infirmary, and not strapped to the chair waiting for it all to happen again.

Sheppard's eyes snapped open, the rapid beeping making the squeezing in his chest intensify. The curtain was pulled back, and Carson hurried in, followed by a nurse.

"Colonel?" Carson looked at the EKG output, then at Sheppard. "What happened?"

What'd happened? His mouth crooked in a moment of irony. What _hadn't_ happened in the last twenty-four hours was probably a better question.

Sheppard looked sideways at the monitor that'd tattled on him. "Bad dream," he admitted, by-passing the heavier stuff. It wasn't like he could claim nothing was wrong, and he wasn't all that interested in trying. He had to face it, he knew that. There wasn't any hiding from what he'd gone through. Nightmares weren't a surprise, and they'd probably be an unwelcome guest for a while. Still, nightmares didn't usually set off the EKG monitor this bad…

Carson nodded with understanding, and frowned at the information on the display. "I can give you something to help you sleep," he offered.

Sheppard was tempted, but then again, later would be better. When he was in his quarters, and alone, because that was when it was likely to hit him the hardest. He'd been going on pure drive and determination to stay alive from the moment he'd been yanked back by those damn harpoons. Everything he'd done had been reacting to the situation. Staying alive, trying to escape, doing what he'd had to do…there hadn't been a whole lot of time since he'd been rescued to sit and think about what'd happened to him.

The only time he'd had back on the planet was when he and the wraith had spent the night in the forest, and his thoughts at the time had focused more on hoping the wraith hadn't changed his mind about their temporary alliance, and hoping the Genii wouldn't find them during the night. Or _ever_, for that matter.

The fact was that the Genii had found them, that the wraith had drained him so far that Sheppard still wasn't sure how he'd lived, and then after beating the soldiers, the wraith had given it _all_ back. Everything he'd taken. Left Sheppard alive, if not more than a little shaken.

"Colonel?"

"How 'bout a rain check, Doc?"

Carson considered him thoughtfully, his prolonged stare making Sheppard feel every subtle cue he might be giving off, but then Carson nodded, distracted by more unhappy beeping from the machine.

The tightness in his chest was enough that Sheppard winced. Whatever was going on, it was serious enough that Carson abruptly ducked out past the curtain, shouted for nurses and a crash cart, then he was back, and lowering the head of Sheppard's gurney. "Doc?" he rasped. It hurt like hell, and when you mix in that he didn't know what was going on, the combination was slightly less then fun.

With a gentle flash of a smile, Carson tried to reassure Sheppard. "I'm afraid the trauma your body's dealt with is catching up. You'll be okay, but until your heart decides to recover, we're going to have to help it along."

"Help it how?"

The nurse was back, pulling a small cart along with her. Sheppard's eyes shifted uneasily to it, craning his neck off the pillow to better see what was going on. There was the defibrillator, and something else alongside it, and it was the smaller device that the nurse lifted and held out for Carson. He took it, and placed it on Sheppard's lap, mid-thigh. "A temporary pacemaker, Colonel. Just to give your heart the help it needs to recover."

Carson began placing the pads over Sheppard's chest and attaching wires. "This is a temporary of a temporary, I'm afraid. Once this is up and running, we'll get you prepped for surgery and install a more permanent temporary pacemaker."

"Permanent temporary?" echoed Sheppard, staring up at the muted lights in the ceiling, feeling a little worried.

"This," Carson said, pointing at the device, "is just to keep you stable. It's an emergency pacemaker that can be attached for short-term use, like now. In regular temporary pacemakers, the units are wired a little differently."

Sheppard figured none of it sounded like things were going good for him, but before he could make that point, Carson was continuing on, "The difference between a temporary and a permanent is that the former is external, the latter, internal. The external one meant for longer term use will still have the main unit outside of your body, but there'll be thin wires that will run through a small incision just about here…" Carson drew an imaginary line across Sheppard's chest, small and innocuous, but all the same, he was getting a little freaked out now.

Sheppard could feel that something was wrong. Besides the tightness, it felt like his heart was beating too fast, and too hard, skipping beats.

Carson and the nurse got him hooked up quickly. The wires were attached to the pads on his chest, and then to the machine still resting on his legs, which was then turned on. It was quiet as Carson watched the monitors, occasionally turning back to study Sheppard with a critical look. It took a minute, or two, but then the tightness eased, and his heart began to slow.

"There we are," sighed Carson. He handed the nurse Sheppard's chart and ordered, "Get Doctor Biro. I don't want to have an emergency come in while I'm in surgery."

Surgery, pacemakers… "Woah, can we back up a minute here?"

Sheppard was still lying flat on his back, and he was feeling more than a little vulnerable. Things were moving too fast, and none of his team were here to field the situation and watch his back, so to speak.

Carson wheeled the cart with the EKG machine close to Sheppard's bed, lifted the unit and placed it between Sheppard's legs, near the bottom of the gurney. He then pulled the privacy curtain all the way around, until it was wide open to everything around him. Then Carson was back by his side, lifting the railing to his gurney and stepping to the side as the nurse removed the saline bolus from the IV stand and slipped it onto the hook she had pulled up from behind his head.

As Carson unlocked the wheels and began to pull the bed backward, the nurse pushed from behind his head, and Carson began to explain as Sheppard's view began to move, "The feeding process places a tremendous shock on the body's system. You're heart is experiencing an inability to regulate its electrical firing…think of it as a temporarily short-circuited automatic timer. If I'm right, and I'm confident I am, all your body needs is time to recover. That's what the pacemaker is for."

The entire time Carson was explaining, he and the nurse continued to steer Sheppard into the OR. He'd been here a few times before, and wasn't exactly happy to be back, but at least this time he was going in fully conscious, which was always a novel idea. It'd happened once or twice, but mostly, he just woke up in the infirmary after whatever trauma, usually wondering what the hell had happened.

"So, my heart's just bitching because of the wraith's feeding. Why wasn't the 'gift of life' enough to keep it from doing that?"

He really hated trying to get answers while he was flat on his back.

"Colonel, as of…" Carson looked at his watch, twisting his wrist but leaving his hand on the gurney, "…two hours ago, I had no idea the wraith could even restore life. I'm afraid I know only slightly more than you. Now, as you like to say, 'buck up,' we'll have you sorted out soon enough, I promise. Anyone else, and I'd hesitate to promise anything, but you've proven to be inordinately resilient…a trait I'm thankful for."

People were moving around his bed, getting things ready, and Carson was delivering orders. The anesthesiologist arrived and leaned over Sheppard, a mask all ready covering his face.

"Hello, Colonel," he greeted Sheppard with a warm, muffled voice. "I realize this is the last place you'd like to be, but I promise we'll take good care of you. Now, you know the routine --"

Sheppard craned his neck to look around, saw the man inject a drug into his IV port, and sighed. "Ten," he started the countdown, because unfortunately he did 'know the routine'. "Nine…eight…"

OoO

Two hours, ten minutes and twenty-six seconds. That was how long he'd let Sheppard out of his sight, and yet, he'd managed to get into trouble. In the infirmary. On Atlantis. What the fuck?

"Doctor McKay, if you would just have a seat in the waiting area, the procedure is relatively short." The nurse looked over towards the door leading into the operating/recovery room. "In fact," she murmured, starting towards the room in question. "I'd imagine Colonel Sheppard is already in recovery."

She hadn't given him a direct order not to follow, so Rodney stepped up behind her, and walked through, into the recovery area. Sure enough, Carson was making some notes on his tablet PC, still dressed in his surgical scrubs. He looked up, smiled at the nurse, then noticed Rodney behind her, at which point his features twisted into the heavy annoyance Carson always seemed to wear when Rodney was in the infirmary and wasn't fatally injured…which, practically every injury _could_ be fatal in this galaxy, and just because Rodney wasn't taking chances with even so much as a splinter –

"Rodney! You can't be in here," Carson berated, handing the tablet to another nurse.

The one he'd followed in, the slim blonde that he was pretty sure had a thing for Sheppard, turned and got this 'oh' look, then she scowled at him, and told Carson, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize he followed me in. I'll escort him back --"

"No, you won't," insisted Rodney. He stepped further in the room, as if to make a point…the point that he wasn't leaving. "Carson, you were supposed to monitor Sheppard, not autopsy him!"

"Out, Rodney, right now." Carson's finger pointed over Rodney's shoulder and directly at the door. Which was precisely why he moved in the opposite direction, towards his original goal. That would be Sheppard, by the way. The man lying on his back, completely still, and if it weren't for the monitors reporting his heart rate, and general status, Rodney would wonder if his crack about the autopsy wasn't far from the truth.

Aware that he wasn't dressed in scrubs, he hadn't even washed his hands since he'd left his quarters, Rodney didn't touch Sheppard, and anyway, he was also aware of the audience. The nurse had settled into frowning, but didn't move to drag him out. Carson had dropped his finger, and his face had softened, and when Rodney looked from Sheppard's slack features to Carson, he sighed and offered grudgingly, "Fine Rodney, five minutes, but no more. He'll be awake soon enough and then you can keep him company as long as you like."

"What happened?"

Carson pointed at the machine resting beside Sheppard's bed. Thin wires ran from it, to Sheppard's chest, and disappeared underneath a bandage. "Do you remember I said that in many cases, survivors die after a feeding?"

Die? Death? Rodney felt his palms begin to sweat. "No, I mean, yes, I remember _that_, but he's not dying…look at him! Seriously, I think that wraith gave him some extra years, which is completely unfair because now he can make grandpa jokes at my expense. How can he be dying?"

A nurse, or technician, or someone that Rodney felt he should probably recognize considering his own amount of time as a patient, checked Sheppard's vitals on the display by his bed, then took the tablet from the nurse, entered something that Rodney couldn't see, and turned to them. "Carson, Colonel Sheppard should be waking soon. I'm going to run and get a bite to eat. You want anything while I'm there?"

"Thanks, Kevin. I'll take a sandwich, roast beef if they've got one."

"No problem."

After Kevin left the room, the nurses dwindled to just the one blonde, and Carson pulled up a chair and sat, leaning his head back against the wall. "He's not dying, Rodney. His body is having some reaction to the process, which is not unexpected. Just because his life was restored, does not make the process any less physically traumatic."

"What kind of reaction?" Rodney searched for another chair, purposefully ignoring the five-minute rule Carson had set. Course, he didn't find one, so he stayed next to Sheppard's side, and split his attention between Carson and the sleepy Sheppard that seemed to be stirring a little in the bed.

"Tachycardia, arrhythmia…his heart's electrical system is temporarily in a snit."

"So you cut him open? That helps how?"

Sheppard made a snuffling sound, and turned his head slightly on the pillow.

"I had to connect him to a temporary pacemaker, Rodney." Carson cracked his tired eyes at the sounds coming from the bed. "A few days rest, give his body time to recover, and he should be fine."

Rodney shifted his feet, thinking he wanted the chair that Carson was in. He hated standing over people like this. Still, it gave him a good view. Sheppard's leg twitched, and shifted underneath the thin sheet that was pulled up to just below Sheppard's chest. His eyes partially opened, before closing again.

"Why didn't you just err on the safe side and put in a permanent?" Really, was medical science that far behind that the obvious conclusion to be 'safe than sorry' was by-passed for an unwarranted belief that Sheppard would be 'fine' in a few days? The last thing Rodney wanted was to have Sheppard suffer a heart attack while mid-flight on some alien planet.

"Nnnnn, mmmm…"

Sheppard's incomprehensible mumbling made Rodney smile, but he erased it once he realized Carson and the blonde were watching him with matching smug looks. So what, he happened to _like_ Sheppard. There wasn't anything wrong with that. Sheppard was the only one on Atlantis that actually understood him…possibly in his entire life. Which was bizarre if you considered the fact that Sheppard, at least on the surface, was nothing more than a flyboy with irritating hair.

"You just want some excuse to tease him." Carson stretched up from the chair, and leaned over Sheppard, checking his cognitive status. Impaired, is what Rodney would call it, as Sheppard made more mumbling noises and tilted his head back on his pillow – staring at what? The pretty lights?

"I can get you some Depends, Sheppard. Would you like a wooden cane and a rocking chair? I can zap it into arrhythmia so stop annoying me…" Carson mimicked Rodney's fast speech and inflected an irritable edge to it that Rodney would swear was completely over the top.

"That is not fair," Rodney denied quickly. Too quickly. It wasn't like Sheppard didn't do worse. Geez. And so long as he knew Sheppard was okay, a little poking at one another was their way of showing how much they cared.

Carson only shot him a skeptical look before he shook Sheppard's shoulder gently. "Colonel? Can you open your eyes for me, Son?"

Kevin poked his head in, saw Rodney and Carson focused on the slightly conscious figure, and called, "When you're ready, Carson, they had roast beef."

"I'll be right there."

He prodded Sheppard for another moment, got another slightly clearer, "Mphphfff," before he told the nurse to go ahead and move Sheppard to his regular spot in the infirmary. "I'm sure Rodney will help you push him there."

Rodney would, but it would've been nice to have been _asked_. Still, he let Carson escape, and he waited while the nurse finished prepping Sheppard's bed to be moved. When she was ready, she nodded to him, and they began to steer his gurney out through the double door exit on the other side of the room.

"Uh, not to be rude, but…" Rodney really wanted to stop referring to her as 'that blonde nurse.' Then again, he probably would forget it until next time. "What's your name again?"

"Maarrrrlllnnnn," mumbled a sleepy Sheppard.

Rodney looked down at him, seeing the eyes barely slitted open. "Go back to sleep until you can speak intelligibly, Colonel."

"Marilyn," the nurse clarified. "And stop being rude to him. He's drugged."

"Rude is what we do to each other. You should know that by now."

The nurse shoved her end of the gurney a little harder than necessary, and Rodney stumbled out of the way as she guided it into its position in the main bay of the infirmary. Rodney stared at Sheppard's uniform, folded up, his dusty boots tucked under a chair.

Marilyn was saccharine sweetness as she said, "Then you wait and do it when I'm not around. Now play nice, Doctor McKay, or you might find your courtesy coffee swapped for decaf."

"You wouldn't."

She locked the wheels in place, checked that his rails were still secured, and beamed pleasantly.

Rodney might have done something he'd regret later, but Teyla, Ronon and Elizabeth chose that moment to walk in and join the party. He was momentarily annoyed that once again, Sheppard had managed to avoid their 'talk'. The one in which he was planning on informing Sheppard that from now on, Rodney was not going through the gate unless Sheppard was practically holding his God damn hand, because if he lost Sheppard just one more time, Rodney was certain there'd be some serious mental repercussions.

Speaking of which, he flipped his wrist and realized, "Oh, I'm late." With a quick wave at the others and a hurried promise, "I'll be back in an hour," to which Sheppard grunted and smacked his lips, Rodney rushed from the infirmary. Let Carson deal with explaining it all over again to the others, right now, he had an appointment.

OoO

Elizabeth only left Sheppard's side after staring long enough to thoroughly believe he had been returned to normal. Ronon and Teyla had peppered the nurse for an explanation, but Elizabeth only vaguely caught words like 'pacemaker' and 'arrhythmia.' She was concerned, but first and foremost, she needed to see the proof of his existence in front of her.

Saying no to Kolya had been the hardest thing she'd ever done.

Kate was going to be busy for the next few weeks. Elizabeth's appointment was after Rodney's, though she wouldn't tell Rodney she'd known where he was off to. If she'd had it her way, none of them would've been subjected to the video feed, but the first time no one had been prepared for what had happened. The second time it'd just been her, Ladon, and the gate room crew. The others hadn't returned from the failed rescue mission. The third…the final time for them, they'd all been there. They'd all wanted to be there. Sometimes the imagination was worse. Sometimes, it wasn't.

Carson was sitting at his desk, eating lunch while discussing shoptalk with the other doctor, the anesthesiologist, Kevin Wind Walker. When he saw her in the doorway, Carson waved her in. "Elizabeth, you've seen Colonel Sheppard, I take it?"

"I have," she said. There was another chair to Kevin's right, and she took it. "I take it there was a complication?"

"You know the colonel, Doctor." Kevin's smile was wry as he sipped the soda. "Let's just hope this is the only 'complication.'"

She settled lower into the chair, relaxing into the softness. It'd been a while since she'd relaxed…since the three of Sheppard's team had emerged from the 'gate, and it'd shut down without Sheppard. "I still can't believe it…"

"I know, it's nothing short of a bloody miracle, that's what it is." Carson's computer uttered a soft beep, and he wiped his hands quickly on a napkin before sliding his fingers along the keyboard.

"Test results in?" asked Kevin, staring curiously over the bag of chips in his hand. They weren't really potato chips, but a version the cooks had made do out of a vegetable that they'd traded for a month ago. There'd been a surplus so instead of tossing out rotting produce, they'd devised a way of baking them in slices and preserving them.

The only difference, the taste was more fruity then starchy.

"Yes," Carson murmured, scanning. "And good news…everything looks normal. His electrolytes are a little off, but nothing too drastic. That's probably the result of the dehydration."

"Carson…" Elizabeth liked medical information kept simple.

"He's going to be fine, Elizabeth. The physiological trauma has caused some problems with his heart, that's where the pacemaker comes in. In a few days I'll remove it, and place him on a Holter monitor to ensure that he remains stable. A day or two of that, and if the results are normal, he should be back on active duty…" Carson paused, and they shared a long look, before he added, "Pending a psychological evaluation."

"And who else is going to have one of these evaluations before being signed off for duty?"

"Pardon?" Elizabeth looked away from Carson and found Kevin watching her, his features inscrutable.

"Colonel Sheppard wasn't the only one affected, Doctor Weir. Rumor has it that his torture was witnessed by yourself, Doctor McKay, Ronon, Teyla and Carson," at the mention of Carson's name, Kevin inclined his head towards him. "I'm sorry, but I think it's being a little prejudiced to believe the only one in need of a psychological evaluation is the colonel. This was a wide-spread trauma. You can't tell me that you won't be having nightmares yourself."

"We weren't the ones tortured, Kevin." Her tone was icy. She didn't bother to admit that she did have plans to see Heightmeyer, and Rodney all ready was. As for the others that had witnessed Sheppard's torture, Elizabeth wasn't entirely sure she had the right to place those demands on them.

The corner of his mouth tilted upwards, and he shook his head. As he balled up the trash from his lunch and stood, he said, "No, but you were the one that effectively ensured it continued, and no one fought to change your mind." He tossed the wrappers in the garbage can. "If you need me, Carson, I'll be working on that inventory."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **I'm floored by the response to part one, and thank you so much! I thought there'd be a second part to wrap it up and I was wrong, there'll be three, and this one is sad. It's a bit of a lull, and the next part will have more light-hearted fair mixed in. I'm always a scared fangirl to show depth because I suck at it, but hey, try and try again! Thanks to Linzi and gaffer for being my great betas, all remaining mistakes are mine, and thanks SLC for giving me a read through and a first impression on it, I need that more than you know! There's spoilers in this for Season 3 episodes No Man's Land and Misbegotten.**  
**

**Part two**

Ashes.

That was the bitter taste of truth in Elizabeth's mouth. The truth that Kevin had so bluntly delivered in Carson's office, and now as she sat beside John's bed, watching him sleep, she suffered the taste of ashes, and wondered what she could've done differently.

"_Then you're effectively ending his life."_

"_I'm not going to go there."_

Ladon was a head of state, with an allied world. John had ordered her not to cooperate.

"_On my command authority, whatever he asks, don't do it!"_

"…_it is my own country's policy to never yield to terrorists."_

She hunched over, ran her hand across the back of her neck. If she'd agreed to the trade, if she'd let Ronon and Teyla devise a plan that would've kept Ladon alive and safe, some kind of a fake trade…their own ambush … Could she have prevented this? Saved John the pain he'd had to endure?

Or, would it have been impossible, like she'd believed, because she knew Kolya. He wasn't stupid. Any trade would've been set on such terms that there wouldn't have been any subterfuge possible, and trying would've made the Genii commander undoubtedly angry.

"I don't suppose he could've done worse," she murmured, staring at her feet.

"Who could've done worse?"

Elizabeth dropped her hand, and looked up. "Rodney…" She tried to shake off her reverie, and glanced at her watch. "You're done early."

Rodney's face transformed from generic worry to embarrassed annoyance. "How'd you know?"

She was really too tired to hold his hand. "Everyone knows." It wasn't like he had any other reason to skulk outside of Heightmeyer's office and act sneaky when he was coming to and from his sessions. "A little advice," she offered, interlacing her hands and pushing them out from her body in a stretch, "don't hover outside in the hallway, peering back and forth to make sure the way is clear."

"I don't --"

"Rodney?"

He pulled up from what he'd been about to say.

"It's all right. No one faults you for having the intelligence to get help. In fact, I have the appointment immediately following yours."

Mollified, he asked, "Really?"

Elizabeth smiled reassuringly, though she didn't imagine it went all the way to her eyes, as tired and weary as she felt. "Really."

"In that case," he said. "_Who_ could've done worse?" Rodney's mind had leapt back to the start of their conversation.

Her eyes drifted from Rodney's waiting expression, to John's sleeping vulnerability. Carson had walked with her from his office to John's bed, using the excuse of needing to do a quick check on the colonel. While he was there, Carson had managed to coax a slurred, "M'fine," from John before warning Elizabeth that he was likely to be groggy and out of it for another hour or two.

Carson had his inventory and research to return to, including studying John's test results with a more thorough eye, and had left her alone. Ronon and Teyla had stayed for the first twenty minutes before another doctor had arrived and called them away for a post-mission exam. That was ten minutes ago, and she expected them to return any time now.

She'd been talking to herself, wallowing in recriminations left from the mostly one-sided conversation with Kevin. It wasn't as if it had been the first she'd thought about it.

"_You can end this…"_

"_Strange, Doctor, I was just about to say the same thing."_

"It was nothing," she replied quietly. "Just…thinking aloud."

There was just the one plastic chair pulled up alongside John's bed, and Elizabeth was currently occupying it. Rodney made a surprised sound, and tried to lean against John's bed without falling. "I can't believe it. He wasn't kidding."

"Who wasn't kidding?"

"Sheppard." Rodney gave up on leaning, and twisted at his waist, gently pushing John's feet to the side through the blanket. John responded by mumbling incoherently, and scooted his feet over in the direction Rodney had shoved. Satisfied, he turned himself back around, facing her, and pushing off with his feet, gingerly slid himself onto the gurney, making sure not to shake the bed. Once Rodney was settled, he grinned smugly. "He said you're terrible at lying."

Elizabeth didn't know what to say. "I thought it was my bedside manner that sucked?" she finally said, feeling self-conscious.

"Oh." Rodney made a concentrated face. "Maybe that's what he said." He shook his head. "Does it really matter? You're lying _now_… You were thinking about what you could've done differently."

"Rodney!"

"You're just dying to know how I knew that, aren't you? Go on, ask me." He folded his arms and smiled smugly.

"Because you just went through the same scenario with Kate…you're wondering the same thing."

Elizabeth enjoyed the fish face moment, before Rodney straightened slumping shoulders. Just to add to his misery, she added, "Really, Rodney, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to make school age deductions."

Sheppard's foot jerked, and kicked limply against Rodney's back. When they looked up towards his head, his eyes were partially open, slightly dazed. "Shut-up," he enunciated slowly and carefully, his voice hoarse and soft.

There was a moment, just one, when Elizabeth wanted to stand, lean over John, brush the errant strands of hair away from his eyes, and place a small tender kiss on his forehead…just the barest touch of lips to skin. So that she would feel his life, his youth, and know that despite the galaxy's best attempts, John had survived.

The impulse only lived in that moment, and then it was gone. It would have been too personal, too much emotion. There'd been a time when she'd given into impulse, and gathered him in a hug after he'd been miraculously saved from his suicide mission. He'd reacted stiffly, taken by surprise, until moments later, he'd relaxed slightly into it.

John's progress towards accepting and trusting was slow, but she had no doubt, it was working, and to push too fast, too soon…

"We'll be quiet," she whispered. She settled for reaching for his hand, holding it for a moment, and giving him a soft smile. "Go back to sleep, John."

He was already fading away, his eyes drooping shut, and John barely managed a nod before he was back asleep. When Elizabeth looked away, she found Rodney still watching John, a stricken look on his face. "Hey," she said, reaching a hand to touch his knee. "He's fine. It's over, Rodney."

"Is it?"

Rodney broke his gaze away from John and met hers.

She knew what he meant. Kolya was still out there. And it wasn't just Kolya. It was the odds that living the life they were, the last trip home would probably be in a body bag. You can only cheat death so many times before it has the final say.

She was due in Kate's office, and what else could _she_ say? Rodney was right, no matter how depressing it was being said so soon on the heels of almost losing John.

"It's over until the next time," she emphasized.

OoO

Rodney had been told coming to Atlantis would be an adventure. It was an honor. Not that they'd needed to convince him… But no one had told him, it'd be soul altering. No one had told him, he'd come to reconsider his basic tenets of character. No one had warned him just how much he'd come to care, to worry, to fear.

Elizabeth had left him with those final words…_until next time_…But she didn't know just how disturbing that thought was, rather than being reassuring. He didn't lift his chin, and nod slightly. He didn't make sarcastic comments, because Rodney figured sarcasm only took you so far. All he did was slide off the bed, take her vacated and still warm chair, and settle in to wait for Sheppard to wake up.

He'd told Kate that more than anything, he hated being helpless. He'd stood in the gate room, watched the live feed, and could only watch as Sheppard's life was taken right in front of him. There wasn't any mathematical equation that was going to reach through that camera and make it stop. There wasn't any device to repair or code to rewrite that would've stopped it. There had been _nothing_ he could do.

Rodney wanted to tell Sheppard that he'd been forced to watch one of his worst nightmares. He wanted to tell Sheppard not to ever do that to him again. He wanted to tell Sheppard if he needed someone to talk to, that, well, Rodney would make him an appointment with Kate, because he completely sucked at helping anyone. As he lowered his head into his hands, and stared at the bland pattern on the tile floor under his feet, Rodney knew, the best he'd manage when Sheppard did wake, was something sharp, and brusque. Something like, "I seriously can't believe you were able to charm a _wraith_ into restoring your life."

If their situation had been reversed, Rodney knew, the wraith would've killed him without a second thought. In fact, it was likely the wraith would've begged to be allowed to end it sooner rather than later, because Rodney just had that ability to irritate people and monsters alike.

There were moments where Rodney was beginning to suspect that divine intervention was a reality. Every time he thought Sheppard was dead, even when it seemed a certainty, the man lived. He came back, time and time again, and scientific probability only stretched so far.

"So, what, you've made a loophole for him?" Rodney asked, pulling his head up from his hands to stare at the ceiling. "You found a way to slide the non-interference for his life? What? I just really would like to know, because seriously, if he's under some kind of protection, it'd help my ulcer to know it now." Rodney paused. "And would it happen to extend to the members of his team?"

It wasn't like he expected an answer. It wasn't even as if he cared.

The figure lying in the bed in front of him was all he cared about.

When he closed his eyes, he saw Sheppard shackled to the chair. Saw the wraith pressing his sickly green hand against his chest, and Sheppard's head thrown back from the pain. Rodney couldn't erase the images of the stark white gag, tight against Sheppard's chin, or the way the small, bloody feeding mark had looked far too miniscule for the damage the wraith was doing through the grainy glimpses.

Rodney's anger had carried him through the first three hours. Rodney's fear and horror had carried him through the hours before they'd rescued Sheppard. But now, what was left?

"Rodney?"

Teyla's voice floated down from behind him, and Rodney turned to look at her, realizing for the first time… was he crying? He tried to swallow it away, but she wasn't capable of being the pillar of strength he needed to rise up past the emotions overwhelming him, and Rodney found instead, that she fumbled for his hand, gripped it, and together they shared a moment where their eyes were painfully glassy.

"He should be _dead_." It sounded almost like an accusation.

"But he is not."

"This time."

"There will be many dangerous times." Teyla let Rodney pull his hand away, and he tried not to miss the soft, dry warmth. "There will be lives lost, Rodney, but it is enough for today that John's was not one of them. There is nothing more we can do."

There was time that passed then—seconds, minutes? They both contemplated how close it'd been. When Teyla spoke again, her voice was softer, huskier. "Do you remember when you were taken on the wraith vessel not long ago?"

"That was different." Rodney wasn't sure how, it just was.

Teyla's smile was sad; she was still standing off to his side. "I believed I had lost all of you. That I was the only one left." When she stared at him long enough that Rodney met her gaze, she continued, "I had moments where I wondered if I would remain on Atlantis, or leave through the Stargate, become much like Ronon was, a lone fighter against the wraith."

"What about your people?"

"The time I have spent with you, John, Ford and Ronon…" Wistfulness crept across her, and she was the one to look away. "Life without this…without any of you…It would never be the same again."

"Oh."

She frowned and looked at him, and Rodney suddenly felt awkward. He made a waving motion with his hand. "Did I say that? What I meant was… I understand?"

Rodney did, really. At first, they'd been members of a team. Just people he worked with. But time changes everything, and feelings grow. He and Sheppard had formed a friendship of sorts early on.

After Sheppard had activated the throne chair without so much as a grunt of effort, he'd returned the next day, presenting himself to Rodney 'as ordered.'

"_So, Major, you and I are going to be working closely together. I hope you aren't a fragile ego. I dislike wasting time on useless pleasantries and small talk…"_

"_Doctor…McKay, is it?" When Rodney had nodded, Sheppard had grinned. "McKay, the only fragile thing on this body is this one spot…"_

_When Sheppard had begun to unzip his jacket, Rodney had stepped back, coughed and said, "Fine, fine. Just so long as we are clear, I only want you for your gene."_

_The cocky smile had never slipped. "That's what they all say."_

Now, over two years later, Rodney wished he could slap his past self. Sheppard had meant a lot more to him since then. Sheppard's ATA gene had allowed Rodney to receive the therapy. He'd taught Rodney how to hold a gun, how to be a member of a team, how to believe in himself in the face of the impossible.

He'd taught Rodney how to fly.

"I…uh…" Rodney climbed hurriedly to his feet. "I'll be back."

It wasn't running away. It _wasn't_.

OoO

Pretending to sleep when you really weren't was probably a low thing to do, and maybe later, Sheppard would feel guilty, but right now he really didn't give a damn. They were taking the risk by talking openly around him, assuming he was still in a drugged sleep. It wasn't his fault.

Teyla took the vacated chair. He peeked through barely cracked eyes, and she was too busy trying to find her equilibrium to notice. The shock of the last twenty-four hours was wearing off; the aftermath settling in on everyone. John was surprised at how much not being left alone right now meant to him. Waking up to find them sitting with him…

But, the conversations he was catching bits and pieces of…The next few days weren't going to be a lot of fun. It's always the 'after' that bites you in the ass. The 'during' was something that you got caught up in, and you had to swim with the current or spend a lot of time fighting against it. Either way, you were carried away or exhausted, and too busy to dwell on what was happening.

Sure as hell wasn't the case after the crisis was over.

So, Rodney was seeing Kate, and so was Elizabeth. John wondered how long it'd take them to _suggest_ he go as well?

Didn't matter. He didn't need to go. It was kind of ironic. When he'd been trapped in the time dilation field, he'd still been full of insecurities. Not that he wasn't anymore, he was, but there had been a hell of a lot more back then. When no one had walked through that cave entrance after him, he'd begun to believe the worst. That he'd been written off, left behind, just like those soldiers he'd disobeyed a direct order to go back for.

Abandonment issues.

John knew how the system worked. He'd just hoped the people on Atlantis were better than that.

When they'd eventually shown up, six months later, he'd learned it'd only been hours for them. _Hours_. And they'd been frantically trying to rescue him the entire time. That was the turning point for him. His epiphany. He'd begun to trust, begun to open himself up just that little bit more.

And this time, when he'd lain on the floor of that cell, drained and weary, he hadn't given up hope that they'd come for him. Not even when the wraith had said they wouldn't. That he was going to die there.

In the end, he'd saved himself. The wraith had surprised him.

But his team _had_ came for him, a little late, but sometimes it was true – it's the thought that counts. Their best wouldn't have saved him, but they'd never given up.

That was what left him in a better place than they were. He'd come out of this with the proof that he wasn't disposable. John's faith hadn't been misplaced. He had a team he could trust in, and while it didn't mean he wasn't going to wake up in cold sweats from nightmares in his foreseeable future, it did mean that he had something with which to hold onto during it. He had a team, friends…_family_.

The worst thing about it all was that Kolya was still alive. He was out there, somewhere, and the Genii soldier was dangerous. There'd been enough bad blood between them before this. He'd been a menace, an adversary, but now the stakes had been raised and John had meant it when he'd said the next time he saw Kolya, he was going to kill him. John only hoped he got the chance before Kolya ambushed them again, because maybe next time, he wouldn't take John. He'd take Rodney, or Teyla. Ronon. Elizabeth, or Carson. Someone he cared about.

"Teyla, has he woken up?"

John let Carson's soft brogue wash over him. His time of pretending to be unaware was coming to an end, but the peace had been nice while it lasted.

"I believe he's been awake for a while."

Huh. John opened his eyes slowly, and narrowed in on Teyla watching him, a gentle smile gracing her face. "You're sneaky, you know that?"

She answered smoothly, "I am not the only one."

He didn't have a good comeback for that, and anyway, Carson was leaning in, checking his pupils, lungs and wires, which was distracting, annoying, and blocking his sight of anything other than the white fibers in Carson's lab coat.

When Carson pulled back, he had a satisfied smile.

"Am I gonna live, Doc?"

"I think so." Carson's eyes crinkled with affection. "And, if you're a good lad," he teased. "Eat all of your soup, I'll even let you walk around a bit before bed time."

"Thanks, _Dad_…" John peered around Carson and fixed on Teyla. "Can I get a good night kiss, too?"

Teyla's eyes sparkled as she said, "I am sure Carson would not mind giving you one."

The humor carried their spirits for a few moments, before seriousness invaded. Carson's stare had grown melancholy and his eyes lingered too long on the wires coming from John's chest. "Now, how do you feel? Any more chest pain?"

John hadn't felt the vise return since the pacemaker had been put on his heart. All that remained was the lethargy from the drugs and partially, the events of the last day. John inhaled, as deep as he could, just to check. "Good," he said truthfully. "I feel fine, Doc."

Physically he did, aside from the discomfort from the incision, but he wasn't counting that. Mentally, he wasn't a hundred percent fine, but he wasn't as shattered as he figured they were. _He_ hadn't had a lot of choices. Rodney, Elizabeth, Ronon and Teyla…they were going to be bearing the weight of responsibility, while John only had to live with the memories of being fed on, being locked up, being used as a pawn...

Okay, maybe it wasn't going to be as easy as he thought, still, he wasn't as screwed up as it seemed Rodney and Elizabeth were. Teyla appeared to be coping like she normally did. And Ronon…

"Where's Ronon?"

Carson looked absently over his shoulder, towards the door. "Oh, I sent him to find Rodney. He still hasn't had his post-mission exam."

John half snorted, half chuckled, which pulled his stitches and made him wince. "He'll appreciate that," he recovered enough to say.

"Perhaps I should go and help Ronon?"

"You could," agreed Carson. "And Teyla, tell Rodney to grab something to eat first, would you, love? I don't think he's barely eaten since this all started."

There wasn't any need for words, and Teyla inclined her head in the way she had, before leaving to do her thing. Ronon and Rodney wouldn't know what was coming, though the odds were that Ronon and Rodney were already commiserating over cake anyway.

OoO

"So," Carson said, pulling up the chair and sitting down. "Now that I know you're not going to have a heart attack on me, would you like to know the official prognosis?"

Sheppard's eyebrow rose, his face scrunched, and Carson thought for a moment the colonel was going to say he'd rather not. Colonel Sheppard didn't like to know the details of his infirmary stays. Usually, he capitulated when offered the information, his sense of curiosity enough to overwhelm his preference to pretend nothing big was going on.

After the Iratus bug, Sheppard hadn't even asked about long-term effects. After he'd been infected with the retro-virus, Carson had had to volunteer the information that the lingering spot on his arm would eventually clear. Sheppard hadn't asked. It probably had a lot to do with the fact that the colonel felt he didn't need to know. Didn't want to know. It was enough for Carson to say, "_You'll live_."

The thing was, though, Sheppard wasn't like that in any other part of his life. It was exactly the opposite. Sheppard was constantly driven to know everything about a situation, Atlantis, his team…but not his medical condition. Not what Carson was doing to him.

Sometimes, the innate trust threw him. Carson was used to patients questioning every treatment, every decision he made, but not Sheppard. He protested being made to stay in bed, to ride on a gurney, to being fussed over…but he never questioned _Carson_.

The only problem, Carson wasn't so sure he was worthy of that trust.

"Doc, you haven't told me to start checking my passport. But if it helps, go ahead, tell me."

Someone had raised the head of Sheppard's gurney so that he was slightly elevated, and besides still looking a little sleepy, the colonel's color was back, and he looked almost normal. If you could ignore all the wires, and monitors he was still hooked to.

The slightly haunted edge to his eyes.

Carson made a mental note to see the nurse after this and put the orders in for the IV to go, if Sheppard kept down his dinner, and continued to do well on his vitals. They'd have to get him up and moving, also, show him how to be careful of his wires while walking.

"The repeated feedings put a heavy strain on your system. I've studied your test results, and I believe it was the feeding before he restored you that's to blame for your current condition. Even though the wraith stopped before you died, he did tell Kolya you were near death. The aging of your heart caused a block along the sinus node --"

He drifted off because Sheppard was making an odd face. "Colonel?"

"Just finish, Carson."

He was hiding something, but Carson wasn't sure whether to press him. "If there's something you're not telling me --"

Carson's thoughts went to prisons, torture, and abusive guards, and he was sure his face blanched, as he slid forward in the chair, all ready reaching for the blanket, just to check for bruises that he might have missed. Sheppard had been out of their sight for a lot of his confinement.

Sheppard's face cycled through confusion to clarity then to embarrassment, as he pushed a hand over the blanket to keep it down and blurted, "No!" He looked cross-eyed at Carson and seemed to do a mental shudder. "Jesus, Doc, you've been watching too many movies."

"Then what aren't you telling me?"

He hadn't meant to, but Carson had effectively maneuvered John in a position where he had to fess up, or risk feeding Carson's worry about sexual abuse. If it weren't for the fact that he was only looking out for Sheppard's health, he would've felt a little guilty for it.

He almost retreated, almost gave Sheppard the space he wanted, because of how the man seemed to wilt inside himself, disappear in the memory of whatever he was keeping to himself.

When his voice finally came, it was as if Sheppard wasn't in the room with Carson anymore. He was back on the planet, seeing something else other than the burnished walls of the infirmary.

"After we escaped, we couldn't find the 'gate." Sheppard's eyes were unfocused. "We spent the night in the forest, hiding from the Genii soldiers. That morning, they found us. The wraith was injured, near death from our escape. Knowing I couldn't fight any longer, he fed again, to get healed enough to kill the soldiers."

Carson interrupted, "You were fed on…a _fourth_ time?"

His surprised outburst startled Sheppard back from wherever it was that he'd gone to, and the colonel's hazel eyes lost that far away look.

"Yeah, but if he hadn't…they would've killed him, taken me back, and if I'd managed to live until you rescued me, it would've only been for the remaining ten, fifteen years…? On Earth." Sheppard inhaled, exhaled, and settled his focus on the wall across the room. "That last time…he took a lot. I thought I was a goner. But he did what he had to do, to save us both."

There it was again. That unsettling acceptance of a _wraith_ as something more than just a killing machine. Carson didn't know what to say to that. On one hand, he could understand Sheppard's insistence in setting it free. On the other, his mind drifted painfully to Michael, and the planet of wraith turned humans. The one where Sheppard had had no compunction in walking away and leaving them to fend for themselves; hadn't hesitated to destroy them.

They'd talked after, shared their regrets over a drink, or two…possibly three and four, Carson's memories of that night were a little muddled. But he remembered the important part. He'd seen the weight of Sheppard's regret at what'd happened, but it'd been regret over doing what he'd thought was necessary, and Sheppard would've made the same choice again.

"Do you think we'll ever find a way to coexist?" Carson asked thickly. "That maybe --"

"No." Sheppard rolled his head on the pillow and stared at Carson. There was that regret, again, but also resolve. "There's always exceptions, Doc, that's how life works. But the whole 'wolves raising a baby' is the rarity, not the norm. Most of 'em will just kill the baby."

Carson nodded, stood. His knees popped, and he saw Kevin out of the corner of his eye coming his way, the inventory sheet looking rumpled and abused all ready. Figures they'd be in the middle of something that tedious and boring right now when he just wanted to disappear into his office and hide away. Sometimes, things just hurt. "I know you're right, Colonel." He smiled wanly. "I just wish it didn't have to be that way."

Wished he hadn't had to betray Michael; to kill…do harm. Even though Michael had returned the betrayal in kind, he hadn't killed Carson, but his gut told him that given the chance, Michael would've. The circumstances were different, and Michael had had no reason to feel anything but hatred towards Carson.

He took another clinical look at the monitors. Sheppard was recovering nicely. He motioned at Kevin that he was coming, and then lingered. "Colonel, what you said to the wraith…"

Sheppard's brow scrunched. "Yeah?"

"Will you really be able to kill him?"

The colonel's face grew inscrutable. He looked away from Carson. There wasn't an answer.

Maybe there shouldn't be.

Maybe Sheppard didn't know.

"I'll send a nurse in a few, Colonel. Get some more rest." Carson left, feeling nothing but bitter regret for leaving Sheppard's thoughts on something they all probably wanted to forget. Sometimes Carson could be a stupid git and a half.

TBC ( I know, groans, sorry!)


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Pop refers to soda pop, commonly shortened to 'pop' in the northern regions. Big, big massive thanks to my betas, hand holders and friends, tazmy, shelly, linzi and gaffer. Also, thanks so much for the reviews, they really do brighten my day, encourage me to keep writing and just generally make me smile!

**Part III**

Ronon pushed the cake towards Rodney. "Switch you for the brownie?"

"Only if you give me your pop."

The dark look Ronon sent Rodney's way showed what he thought of the offer. Granted, Rodney was playing hardball, but brownies deserved to be fought for. Cake was served at almost every meal. Pop only showed up for the week or two after the Daedalus arrived. As cargo, it weighed more to haul, which used up more fuel, etc. etc. etc… Sometimes the practical side of physics sucked.

Coke, Pepsi, if it was carbonated, loaded with sugar and caffeinated, he'd drink it…it made for a nice alternative for his caffeine fix, with the added bonus of a sugar high. And pop was special enough to be traded for a brownie.

"Brownie for the cake, McKay. The Pepsi's not on the table."

"Well, technically --"

"Thanks, McKay, I knew you'd agree." Ronon grinned while he snatched the brownie.

It wasn't that Rodney _really_ wanted the brownie – surprisingly, he wasn't that hungry -- it was the principle of the thing. "You think it's perfectly acceptable to use your size to get what you want, don't you? For the record, cake for brownie is never a fair exchange. Brownies are superior to cake." Rodney eyed the cake with disgust. It wasn't even chocolate. It was vanilla, or some other fake flavor.

Fake, faked…faked out, freaked out…why did it feel like Sheppard was constantly freaking him out? "What is it with him?"

"With who?"

Rodney looked up from the cake he was contemplating sporking (cause he wasn't gonna eat it) and almost laughed at what he saw. There was a white coating of milk all along Ronon's mustache. He opened his mouth to tell Ronon then aborted it. Rodney's next thought was about sneaking a capture from the security feeds and adding a bubble of text that said _Got Wraith_? Maybe he'd send it to Zelenka, Sheppard (definitely, but only when Ronon wasn't around and maybe he'd have to wait a month or two, considering recent trauma), Carson, possibly Elizabeth—

"McKay," prompted Ronon, with a nudge of his foot against Rodney's shin.

"Sheppard," Rodney said. He narrowed his eyes at Ronon. "Who else? He _is_ the one that was just eaten in front of us; it's not like I respond well to torture… mine or his, or yours, or --"

"He'll live." Ronon talked around a mouthful of Rodney's brownie.

"Of course he'll live," Rodney snapped. Honestly, could Conan not do a little exposition, here? "It's next time that I'm worried about. And…" Rodney stopped himself from saying what he'd been a millisecond away from saying.

Sheppard was going to live, barring a freak turn in his condition. Freak, fake…faked. God Damn it, it wasn't like Sheppard's aging had been faked, it'd been real, and he'd gotten to live through that not once, twice, but three times the not-so-lucky charm, and then apparently, he'd had the fourth time around, and even if that last time had been to make him young again, it'd still been a wraith looming over Sheppard, and from the shout they'd heard, it'd still hurt like hell.

Nightmares…God, they were all going to have nightmares. Long, long, long nights of nightmares. Just thinking of it made him sleepy and out of sorts.

"We'll live too, McKay."

Rodney's head jerked. He met Ronon's look. "How do you do that?" he demanded.

Ronon leaned lazily back in his chair, resting a casual hand along the seat, and regarded Rodney. "Do what?" He had the air of a predator watching his prey.

Not that Rodney cared. "Brush these things off so easily. One minute you're snarling at the screen, the next you're all 'we'll live.' I hate that…" Rodney's head was moving, back and forth as he gave in and let loose. "Hold a grudge, beat someone up, do _something_ to show how incredibly screwed up the last twenty-four hours were!"

Ronon's arm fell and he leaned forward, his voice dropping as he growled, "Sit, McKay."

Dumbfounded, Rodney looked down and realized at some point he'd stood. Then he looked around and realized people were staring. At him.

Talking to the _completely_ rude people, Rodney said, "Oh, right, I forgot, the small people like to be entertained."

Eyes averted; some guiltily, some amused.

Satisfied, Rodney sat, albeit still disgruntled. When Ronon leaned even further across the table towards him, Rodney fought the urge to hold the cake as protection, because Ronon's eyes were wild, tumultuous and angry. "I hold grudges, McKay, don't _ever_ doubt that. But I know when it's time to be pissed, and when it isn't. Sheppard's alive, the rest we deal with. And when we see Kolya again, he pays."

A little stunned by the ferocity radiating from Ronon, Rodney nodded, swallowed, and then found a small, satisfied grin. "Scarily enough, I can accept that." And what that said about him, Rodney would prefer to leave in the closed off, unanalyzed, portion of his mind.

OoO

"I know I did the right thing," Elizabeth said, pacing. The urge to chew her nails, push her hands into her pockets, fold them, tap them…to do something…was overwhelming. She'd thought coming here right away was better than waiting. Had thought it would set an impression with everyone else, hopefully letting them see it wasn't a weakness to seek out help.

But now, pacing in Kate's office, talking out of nervousness, pain, the sheer horror of what'd happened, she just wanted to turn around, run, go somewhere, anywhere, that she could be alone, because some emotions aren't meant to be shared.

There was only silence coming from behind the desk, and Elizabeth finally stopped and turned to look at Kate, asking, "Isn't this where you agree? Or offer some platitude that suggests we did the best we could during a difficult situation, and that afterwards it's always easiest to be critical and second guess decisions?"

She wished she didn't sound so hopeful.

She wished she didn't feel so hopeless.

Kate sat relaxed in her chair, calm, but sympathetic. She made the perfect therapist, because in her facial features and body language she conveyed everything, and nothing. Kindness, caring, support…they oozed from the woman. But Elizabeth couldn't tell how Kate felt about the decisions made during John's captivity. Had she agreed, would she have done it differently…did it matter?

"Do you honestly feel you handled it wrong? That you would do it differently, knowing everything that you do now?" Kate prompted gently.

Lifting a hand and brushing her hair to the side, Elizabeth sighed. "No…yes…" frustrated, she moved to the chair in front of the desk, sat and pushed her hands together between her knees. She shook her head as she admitted, "The logical part of me tells me that everything I did was right."

"And the rest of you?"

Elizabeth kept her hands clenched tightly. "The rest of me would've handed Ladon over before Kolya finished his first sentence."

Kate inhaled deeply, lifted her pen between two fingers. As she rolled it between her thumb and index finger, she talked to Elizabeth about responsibilities of a leader versus a friend. Her words dulled to a hum in the background as Elizabeth did her own internal speech.

It was why you weren't supposed to make friends of the people you were in charge of…you weren't supposed to care.

Before she'd taken control of the SGC, shortly before the confrontation with Anubis, before General Hammond had left for Washington, she'd asked him for any advice he had to give. He'd paused in the office door, his fingers clenched around the handle of his briefcase. At the time, General O'Neill, still a Colonel, had been succumbing to the knowledge of the Ancients overwriting his mind, and the general had had to abandon his people in the middle of a crisis.

"_Be ready for the tough decisions, Doctor Weir. Believe me, they're out there."_

She hadn't been ready. Nothing could have made her ready for what she'd faced since coming to Atlantis. But this…having the power to _save_ John, and saying _no_. She could argue the morality, the ethics, but she'd all ready bent those before. Maybe it was better to say there were some rules she wouldn't bend, after all. Not even for John. Not even for herself.

"Elizabeth?"

The smile that surfaced was forced. "Thank you," she said, hurriedly getting to her feet. "You're right, of course. And I know in time, this will be nothing more than a bad memory."

Nobody was fooled, but Kate let the pen fall from her fingers to the desk, the soft clunk seeming to reverberate in Elizabeth's mind. "I understand," Kate offered. "If you need to see me…to talk, again, later when you've had time to think more about what happened, you know I'm here."

Elizabeth's escape was mercifully fast. There were things waiting for her. There were always things waiting: reports, requests.

She didn't go to her office, though, and she didn't go to the infirmary. She didn't go to the mess hall and see if Teyla, Ronon or Rodney were there. She went to her quarters, and when the door slid shut behind her, she was alone for the first time since John went missing.

Standing just inside the doorway, Elizabeth struggled for control.

Ladon hadn't been worth John's life. He _hadn't_. It was just as simple as that, and as terribly painful, because worth it or not, she couldn't have done it any differently. She couldn't.

Tightness clutched her chest, and her eyes squeezed shut. It was meant to help her regain control, but all it did was unravel the reel of images, and she watched, again and again, as John's life was stolen from him.

From _him_. From _her_. From_ them_.

She wanted to cry, to say that she couldn't do this anymore. The job cost too much, and it hurt so incredibly bad…all the lives, the damage, and the wins were too few to balance the scales. She wanted to kick her foot so hard against the wall that the pain woke her from this nightmare.

But all she did was straighten, blink fast enough to convince herself that there hadn't been anything more than a speck of dust in her eye; that's all. It took more time than usual, more convincing repetition that some day all of this will have been worthwhile, that it will have been worth something important. That what they had suffered, and are suffering, will mean something.

Then she walked stiffly to her dresser, pulled out a clean uniform, spread it on her bed, and Elizabeth headed for her bathroom, because that's what people do even in the midst of tragedy and triumph. They get dressed, walk out the door, say, "Hi, how are you?" at all the right times, and then they do their job another day, and another, and the day after that, because it was what they had to do.

But tonight, when Elizabeth did finally try to get some sleep, she was going to do something she hadn't done in a while. She was going to take the rosary she'd tucked into her underwear drawer, hold it tight, and say a prayer, because it was only a miracle that John Sheppard was still alive, and Elizabeth's mother had always taught her to never fail to say thank you for a miracle.

OoO

Evening in the infirmary was a quiet thing.

"Colonel Sheppard, do you remember why I asked you to keep your hand down?"

John looked at his hand. "Why?"

The nurse hit the reset button on the blood pressure machine and made a sound that John associated with mothers, and reminded him, "Because if you lift your arm, it won't read properly, and we prefer to know ahead of time if your blood pressure is dropping to nothing…as opposed to finding out when you die."

"I bet you say that to all the colonels," John said, being a little flirty just because he could.

The nurse gave him a smile that went to his toes. "Just you, Colonel. Now, arm down."

With a rakish grin, John went to salute…with the arm strapped in the cuff. He wound up lowering it lamely, making a sheepish half-attempt with his other, and saying a proper, "Yes, Ma'am."

He totally meant to listen, and she walked away with a last look at him that said clearly 'behave,' but then he got an itch on his nose. See, the itch was a problem. Carson had told him not to move his left arm around much. At least, no lifting it above his shoulders…and it was sore enough that John wasn't really arguing with him about it. Then they strapped a cuff on his right arm and said, "Don't move."

But when you've got an itch, something's gotta give. He lifted his right hand and tried to scratch without moving too much.

The damn thing puffed up, recycled and sat there beeping angrily. He tried to lean over and push a button, or something, and it only made it beep worse.

"Colonel, just what exactly are you doing, Son?"

John rolled back, careful of his left arm, and stared guiltily at Carson. Then he realized he was the one that was getting the short end of the stick, here, and exasperated, he waved his right arm, now being squeezed painfully by the cuff, "The damn thing won't shut off."

"That's because you won't stay still," scolded Carson.

"She snitched on me," John said, as if he'd been betrayed by his best friend.

Carson made a face but decided it was safe enough to go without any more readings. He took off the cuff and stuffed it in the small basket, pushing the machine back out of the way, before he tucked himself into the chair next to John. "The machines send their information to my office as well as the nurse's, Colonel." He stared at John, assessing. "It's getting late, and I imagine you're tired, but even with the drugs you've had, you're restless. Maybe it's time for me to call in that raincheck….It helps, you know…to talk about it."

"Not this time, Doc."

"Tomorrow is a long way off, when you're lying in bed and can't sleep."

Tomorrow.

"At least I have a tomorrow." He pushed his head back, sinking into the pillow, and tried to shuck himself into a more comfortable position. Damn if he wasn't tired, come to think of it. It seemed easier to let his eyes close with Carson sitting near.

"Aye, that I'll second," Carson whispered.

John meant to say something else, but somewhere from his thoughts to his tongue, the words got lost, and he found himself instead slipping into sleep.

OoO

How daft was he, lately?

Carson had come out when the machine had gone off, _again_, meaning the colonel had moved his arm for what was it now…the fifth time in as many minutes? Carson had ordered hourly checks, but John kept moving, even when the machine was trying to take its readings.

Dinner time had passed. Carson could see the fatigue written across John's face; the tired lines around his eyes, red-rimmed from drugs and the fact that only that morning he had been in surgery, no matter how simple and straight forward it'd been. And before that, he'd been on another world, having his life infused back into his body, and before that…but John hadn't wanted to talk about it earlier.

"At least I have a tomorrow," Sheppard had said.

Carson had watched as the colonel's eyes drifted lower, and lower. He'd whispered, "Aye, that I'll second," just because it was incredibly true. Thank God for babies, the Heather-filled Highlands, and miraculous returns of loved ones. Friends.

But it brought him back to his original thought…how daft was he? Knowing how restless the colonel had been, increasingly so, it seemed, as night waxed. The moment Carson had taken residence in the chair, the man's entire demeanor had relaxed, tension seeming to flow out of muscles like tinkling cool water in a mountain stream.

Sheppard had needed to know someone he trusted was near in order to sleep, and no wonder, considering what the man had been through. That it'd taken this long for Carson to realize only made him want to berate himself further… the sigh he released was painful, and sad.

"I know I've saved you more times than I care to remember, but I can't shake the feeling that we all failed you this time, Colonel, failed you terribly."

"Because we did."

Carson looked over his shoulder, smiled regretfully. "Would you believe me if I said you had no choice?"

She stepped nearer, the shadows playing across her face. "No. You urged me to trade sooner, than later." Elizabeth folded her arms against her chest and watched with a naked tenderness between them as John slept. "You wanted to rescue him, and I wouldn't give in to Kolya's demands."

"Just because there are choices, doesn't make them right."

They didn't have to hold back. Carson knew Elizabeth's demons more than anyone else on Atlantis. She came to him for whatever it took to keep her going. Some nights it was a drink, and an ear, other nights, it was a bottle of pills. Tonight, it was this. To stand next to Sheppard, to be together, because Carson knew the others would be arriving soon. Filtering in as their need drove them.

With Elizabeth here to sit with John, Carson stood. "I'll be back."

She nodded, biting her lip and fighting back emotions that Carson knew were mirrored in his own face. Why did it seem like it was only getting harder? Without saying anything else, he left to find the nurse and explain what he needed.

OoO

Teyla had found Ronon and Rodney, and somehow they wound up talking about things they could do to make Kolya pay. It was not entirely a healthy conversation, she knew, but then again, perhaps revenge had merits at certain times.

They spent too long on the topic, the dinner rush left, and the room grew empty. "Should we not go visit Colonel Sheppard?"

Of course, they should, but she phrased it as a question so not to sound as if she were criticizing their length of time expanding upon methods of torture.

Teyla didn't miss the flash of fear, and something else, on Rodney's face. Nor did she fail to miss the way Ronon's muscles tightened.

"Personally, I prefer discussing the non-sedated removal of a certain Genii's finger and toenails --"

She raised her eyebrow.

Rodney scowled, but dropped his gesturing hands and sighed. "Fine, fine. We'll go visit Sheppard. Might as well get this awkward stuff over with, anyway."

"What awkward stuff?" Ronon stood, crumpling his napkin in a ball, and tossing it towards the trashcan.

It fell short, and Teyla said pointedly, "You missed, Ronon."

"No, I didn't. I meant to do that."

Rodney's eyes widened in disbelief. "You did not! Stop lying, seriously, whoever got you started on that completely pathological behavior needs to be marched out at dawn and shot."

Teyla could not quite keep the smile from spreading as she leaned towards Rodney and reminded him, "I believe it was you that explained to Ronon the purpose of a 'white lie.'"

As they walked through the doors towards the transporter, Rodney protested, "Well he's doing it wrong. A white lie is saying, 'Hey, Ronon, nice hair cut.' Not, 'I meant to miss the target with my shabbily made garbage-ball', because that's so the point of throwing a ball at a target. Oh, looked, I missed! Just what I _meant_ to do!"

It was a Rodney thing, to wind up insulting someone when he was focused on something else entirely, but Ronon hadn't missed the hair jab, and he frowned at Rodney, while screwing his eyes upwards, as if trying to see his hair without a mirror. Teyla wished there weren't these emotions pressing down on her, otherwise, she could have enjoyed the moment for what it was. "Your hair is fine, Ronon," she said, more sharply then she'd intended. "Rodney, it is important that we are there for John now. He will need us in the days to come. It will not be awkward." She guessed at what he had meant.

"Be there for Sheppard? What about me…"

Teyla didn't quite subdue the glare.

"…and _you,_ Ronon. Who's there for us, hmm? We're psychologically scarred. You can't just erase the images of your best friend being tortured – literally to death -- in front of you!"

The transporter door had opened to let them out, but before Rodney could walk forward, she touched his arm, made him stop and look at her. "_We_ are here for us. _John_ is here. Together we will get through this, but there is nothing that can erase those images, Rodney. Some things are never meant to be erased; they leave scars inside, and the only way to not let them sicken you is by letting the scars touch the light of day. Do you understand?"

Understanding, then confusion, then understanding, then confusion…the two expressions rapidly cycled across Rodney's face until it finally settled on confusion. "No…not… really."

Ronon shrugged past Teyla. "She's saying she thinks we need to share our feelings to keep from becoming crazy over what happened." With a look that made it clear to Teyla how he felt, Ronon added, "I think it's a girl thing."

Rodney gingerly moved around Teyla and joined Ronon. "I think she can possibly hurt you," he murmured, sotto-voice, before heading into the infirmary.

When they joined Rodney by John's bedside, it was to find the colonel sleeping. Elizabeth was already watching over him, sleeping in the chair next to him. Rodney raised a finger to his lips and made a shhhh face. Teyla nodded gravely.

It had been a very, very long twenty-four hours plus some. The fact that not only one, but two, of the most affected slept now, was reason to be quiet and careful. There were extra chairs strategically placed, but Teyla also noticed the beds nearby were made up, pillows and blankets ready. She knew that the those items were normally out only if a bed was occupied, and their appearance now spoke a great deal about Carson's intentions for John's team, and Elizabeth.

They were not only welcome, but being invited to settle in for the night.

Ronon lowered himself into a chair not far from Elizabeth, Rodney into the one near Sheppard's head. The bed lured her. She had not slept, anymore than anyone else had. She went with her body's growing need, and settled on the gurney, surprisingly not bothered by the fact that Ronon and Rodney's eyes drifted her way, concern evident.

When had they become so close? When had they crossed that line from team to family?

The pillow was small and lumpy, and yet, it was the most wonderful feeling in the world. Teyla never realized she'd fallen asleep until the desperate sounds from John woke her…

OoO

He wasn't afraid to take a bullet. He wasn't afraid to die. But to die like this…

A person sees enough, lives through enough, they tend to think differently about the end. John didn't want to lose his life, but he didn't want to beg Kolya to save it, either. And that's why, right now, he was thankful for the gag... it'd keep him from crying out something he didn't want to say.

He tried to look the wraith in the eye, to face it head on, like he'd faced everything else in his life, but the moment that hand struck his chest, the agony sent his senses all screw-shaped. The agony burned through his muscles like fire, incinerating every nerve ending in his body. John felt his head fall back, bent from the sheer, unadulterated pain…it speared his chest, shook his limbs, pierced every layer of his body. Shove the impossibility of it, because John was convinced that somehow time had stopped.

"_Stop_…"

Was that his voice? He was gagged…he couldn't talk, scream, or beg, so how?

Did it matter…was it ever going to end? It couldn't have been long…a wraith could drain a human in less then a minute, hell, less then half a minute, so why did it feel like he'd been clutched tightly in this hell for hours. How was his mind even managing to form a coherent thought?

"Just…stop..." he rasped.

"John, you're safe. It is all right."

His eyes snapped open, his breath stuck in his throat. "Teyla?" he croaked.

The fire receded, the memory retreating.

She was standing next to him, leaning over, her clothes wrinkled and rumpled. Her hair was even more messed than usual, and he suddenly got that she'd been sleeping…he'd woken her, but there wasn't any trace of sleepiness in her face. Instead, there was something sad, worried, and heavy. "It was a dream," she assured him. And then, as much to herself, repeated, "Just a dream. You're safe on Atlantis now."

Rodney was muttering in his sleep, and John was sure he'd heard his own name. A moment later, Rodney jerked upright, his eyes going from shut to open so wide that John could make out how dilated his pupils were in the softly illuminated infirmary. Recognition caught up, and then they were staring at each other.

"I…uh…" Rodney cleared his throat and slumped less. He turned his head, noted Ronon dozing not far from them, and Elizabeth. "It was… uh, bad dream."

John chuckled low. "Bad company."

"You too?" Rodney's assessing gaze raked over him and he added dryly, "I don't suppose becoming a human espresso is conducive to pleasant dreams. I can personally vouch that watching it isn't."

They both watched as Teyla went to the bed, pulling two blankets off. "Dreams are the bridge from our inner thoughts, to our outer." She handed one to Rodney, then wrapped the other around her shoulders. The chair behind Rodney was empty, and she pulled it closer before sitting.

"Subconscious to conscious?" Rodney wondered towards her.

"Yes. Doctor Heightmeyer and I had a similar discussion when I had problems with dreams before." John tried not to wince at the memory, especially seeing how Teyla was managing just fine. "Our dreams manifest what our mind perhaps will not face when we are consciously thinking."

John had to look away, because suddenly, the ceiling had a real interesting design; he bet they didn't know that.

Did she know? Had he begged out loud, as he'd done in his dream?

"Are you getting post-traumatic?"

Rodney's sharp question drew John's eyes swiftly off the not-really-so interesting tile.

"What are you talking about?" retorted John.

"You," Rodney elaborated with a wave. "You're acting weird. Stop it. Just…"

"Rodney, John is…" she caught his gaze and smiled wistfully, "…fine."

He nodded thankfully at her, closed his eyes. He was fine. He'd be fine. Dreams don't kill you, they just scare you, that's all, and what's a little lingering fear when he considered the alternative, right?

_Suck it up, John, the wraith didn't kill you in the end, it restored you. Stop repainting him with the evil brush of the first three feedings…_

"If he's fine, why's he closing his eyes now?"

Rodney's question washed over John. He found a pleasant familiarity in the tense anxiety that always seemed to ride roughshod over Rodney. Answering without opening his eyes, John said, "He's closing his eyes because _he_ is tired."

The thing was, John was tired. Bone weary, down deep, tired. And he figured, he'd dream more before the night was up. Then tomorrow Carson would fuss over him, and he'd have to get on his feet, start walking…start taking more steps towards returning to normal.

And John wanted to get back to normal.

They weren't going to make it easy for him -- Rodney was probably going to hover more than ever, and so would Teyla and Ronon. As he thought about it, a real smile crept across his face, cause the worry thing…it was what a family did. _Family_.

"Look! He's smiling now…Sheppard, you're not brain damaged from everything, are you?" Rodney moved closer and tried to pry one of John's eyelids open.

He pushed Rodney's hand away, but then caught Rodney's arm, and held it, grinning up at him. He'd had to reach with his right hand, not being able to move his left much, and he practically laughed because that was going to bring Carson running soon, again, but suddenly, it was okay. _Everything_ was okay. "Rodney, I could kiss you," he joked. Euphoria was almost stealing away his common sense, but he was _alive_, his heart was behaving, tomorrow was a new day that'd be one step closer towards putting this behind him, behind them, and they cared. They'd come for him.

They were his family.

"Cadman's not in there, is she?" Rodney demanded, staring at him suspiciously.

Before John could answer, the cuff went off, the beeping began, and Carson came blustering out a few moments later demanding, "One hour, Colonel. You couldn't make it one hour of keeping still…"

Everyone was awake then, Ronon and Elizabeth slowly taking in the activity. Seeing how he was the only one with carte blanche to sleep even in the middle of people talking and pestering, John decided to return to it, or at least, make them think he was. Carson did his thing, fussed, then they lowered their voices, and shared opinions on topics that had everything to do with inane things like chocolate versus vanilla and who'd win in a fight, Rocky or Ronon and nothing to do with why he was lying in an infirmary bed, continually setting off his annoying blood pressure cuff. John let the lassitude of the atmosphere blanket him with more warmth than any cotton could manage, and soon the pretending became fact.

OoO

He'd like to say, that everything afterwards was roses. That they helped each other heal. But the fact was, it only worked that way in fairy tales and TV. John woke a lot that first night with more nightmares, and sometimes someone woke up with him, sometimes they didn't.

He had company round the clock. One of the four -- Carson, Rodney, Teyla and Elizabeth. Sometimes Zelenka dropped in, Lorne…they all took their time to keep him busy. They all worked hard to find topics that didn't involve the wraith, but considering where they lived and worked, and the reality of what was going on around them, it was pretty hard to do. It was two days later when Carson removed the pacemaker and attached the Holter monitor to make sure his heart was recovered, and two days later when he finally got sick of it.

Sick of the hovering, the avoiding some topics…as if the mere mentioning of them would send John in a tailspin. Or worse, into some kind of post-traumatic flashback. But it was the fact that just maybe they were right to be worried that made him open up.

Was it really a surprise that the one he opened up to was Rodney?

John was sitting on his bed, thumbing through a new proposal that Rodney had brought by. He was only wearing his sweats and a loose t-shirt, the monitor tucked into a small nylon pack attached around his waist. He was beginning to get used to the whole 'wired up' thing.

It took a moment for it to sink in what he was reading, that it wasn't a joke, at least he figured it wasn't, judging by the eager, impatient look on Rodney's face.

_Proper Off-World Departures Using the Stargate, and General Discourse on Safety Measures of Off-World Team Members  
By Rodney McKay, Ph.D, Astrophysics  
Chief Scientist, Atlantis Expedition_

_**Index**_

_1. Non-emergent departures via planetary DHD's_

_2. Emergent departures via planetary DHD's_

_3. Non-emergent departures via Puddle Jumper, with no malfunctioning equipment_

_4. Emergent departures via Puddle Jumper, with no malfunctioning equipment_

_5. Non-emergent departures via Puddle Jumper, with malfunctioning equipment_

_6. Emergent departures via Puddle Jumper, with malfunctioning equipment_

_7. Order of departure_

_8. Preventative measures to avoid capture upon departure_

_9. There is no "I" in TEAM (and other reasons why no one is expendable)_

_10. Maximizing your safety potential_

_Post-script provided by Major Lorne, Doctors Radek Zelenka and Elizabeth Weir, Chapter eight written with the help of Native consultants Ronon Dex and Teyla Emmagan. Chapter ten co-written with the help of Carson Beckett, M.D., Chief Medical Officer, Atlantis Expedition._

"Don't you think this is a little overboard?" John finally asked, setting it on his bed.

"No."

He waited for the 'more' but Rodney merely quirked an eyebrow at him as if to say the paper explained everything necessary, and stood impassively next to John. _Okay._ Rodney being succinct. Maybe there was more work ahead of them then he'd thought.

Maybe he ought to take Kate up on her offer of group therapy. Then he remembered his session from yesterday and decided _screw that_. Because right now it was too raw and personal to even consider sharing. John didn't want to tell Rodney what his thoughts were when he'd been dying. He didn't want to deal with the abrasive curiosity.

"You can't let what happened make you even more neurotic, and this…this is pretty neurotic."

"Why not? Change is adaptation, it's a basic survival tactic built into even the smallest life forms in the universe."

Well, he had John there. Sighing, he lifted the paper, and thought maybe he'd read it. Maybe Rodney had suggested things that'd help make _all_ of them safer out there. "There's nothing stupid in this, is there, like keeping me behind because I'm the leader and need to be protected, 'cause I always thought that was lame when they did that to Picard."

Rodney snorted. "Hardly." At John's look, he admitted irritably, "Fine, Elizabeth made me take out the part about tying you to me."

"Tying…?" John's neck ached from looking up at Rodney. "Sit, Rodney, before I wind up needing to see a chiropractor."

"There isn't one on Atlantis," Rodney informed him as if John was really stupid. But he did sit down next to him on the bed.

"I know, hence the 'sit down.' I prefer to avoid things like pain in the necks…oh, wait, _you're_ on my team." John laughed at the irony.

"That's not fair. I'm not the one that got captured, not once, but twice, in less than a month! Seriously, do you have any idea of how damaging it's been being on the other side of the wormhole and having it shut down without you on this side? Again, I repeat," Rodney lifted his index finger, "not once, but _twice_."

John rolled his eyes. "I get it, trust me."

"No, you don't, because you're being glib. And if that weren't enough, which it was, by the way, I had to watch Kolya step to the side and what'd it reveal…you! Tied to a chair, bound, gagged, in deep, deep, incredibly deep trouble. It's…it's…"

"…hard," John finished for him.

Rodney was going to say something harsh, angry, grating…to show how much he cared – John could tell by the changing expressions on Rodney's face, but when he tried, nothing came out, and John waited. He waited as Rodney's emotions disintegrated and the anger dissolved into just…pain.

This…thing…between them, it got awkward in the quiet. Not sure what to do, John lingered on the cusp of trying to reach out, until Rodney was the one to first gather something together, and he took the paper from John's lap, stared at it with resignation. "None of this is going to change what happened, is it?" he said thickly. "Or what _might_ happen."

Now it was John's turn to be succinct. "No."

That was the crux of it. Rodney had hit upon the thing that was keeping them all on edge. That it might happen again. That they'd been lucky, he'd been lucky, and luck runs out. There was going to be a day when one of their team didn't make it back. In a way, there'd all ready been one of those days, it was just that Ford had been lost on Atlantis when they'd been separated, each fighting their own fight to keep Atlantis safe. Because of the circumstances, it wasn't the same feeling...Ford had abandoned them.

Close, but not the same.

John had begun to reach out more to people, to his friends. And he did it now, feeling completely weird, but doing it anyway, and patted Rodney on the knee before standing up. "Come on, let's get some lunch."

Rodney frowned at the report, and reluctantly set it on the bed. He stood, and seemed to be thinking about something. When he finally moved towards John and asked plaintively, "Not even a wrist harness?" John shoved him forcefully ahead, not at all reluctant for that kind of 'reach out and touch someone.'

"No."

"Okay, fine, but holding hands as we prepare to jump through was like third on my list of preferred methods --"

"Knock it off!"

OoO

The table was crowded; cards and poker chips, glasses and people.

Laughter erupted, and smiling, Elizabeth lifted her wine glass. "To your first mission tomorrow, Colonel…" tilting her head towards Rodney, Teyla and Ronon, "And company, may it be as boring as watching paint peel from a wall."

Carson lifted his glass, clinking to hers, then they met the others in the toast and vowed, "Hear, hear!"

Swallowing, Carson raised his glass again. "To old wood best to burn, old wine to drink, old friends to trust, and old authors to read."

John looked across the table at Rodney, nodded solemnly, and lifted his half-empty glass. Rodney followed, and Elizabeth, but Teyla paused, confused. "What does it mean?"

"It simply means…" John stared at the familiar faces, the wine having warmed them all to the marrow of their bones, and though they grew melancholic thinking about Carson's words, everyone was smiling…happy. Teyla waited, her face open and curious. They all waited. John smiled crookedly. "...it means, 'let's grow old together.'"

She looked at Ronon, then to each of them in turn, and lifted her glass. "I would like that," she said fervently.

The resounding hear, hears echoed all the way up, and out, and could be heard in the hallway and beyond.

**The End**


End file.
